Minute 81.
Girona U18 was tied 1-1 in a match they desperately needed to win.
Rio, at 176cm, wasn't the biggest player on the field, but his job as a left winger was to be the fastest. And right now, he was forcing his exhausted legs to prove it.
His teammate, Javi, had just won a scrappy duel in the midfield.
He looked up, eyes wide, and hoofed the ball forward into open space.
It was a perfect pass.
Rio's brain registered it instantly. He exploded forward, his worn-out cleats digging into the turf.
The opposition's right-back was caught flat-footed. The center-back was too slow to cover.
And the goalkeeper… oh, the goalkeeper.
The keeper, seeing the danger, had charged out wildly, a good 20 yards from his line. He must have realized his mistake halfway, because he stopped, skidded, and was now scrambling back, his arms flailing like a panicked chicken.
He was in no-man's-land. The net was wide open.
This was it. The entire stadium, a small ground with a few hundred dedicated parents and scouts, held its breath.
Rio's first touch was decent, pushing the ball just ahead of him. His second touch set him up. He didn't even need to look up.... he knew the goal was empty.
This was the moment every young player dreamed of. The game-winner. The moment that gets you noticed.
All he had to do was not mess it up.
He pulled back his left foot, ignoring the stitch in his side and the lactic acid screaming at him. He was going to hit it hard, high into the middle of the net. No chances.
Thwack!
The connection felt… off.
Rio watched, horrified, as the ball sailed. And sailed. And kept sailing. It didn't just miss the goal. It cleared the crossbar by at least ten meters. It was heading for the parking lot.
A collective groan erupted from the Girona bench. From the stands, a few cruel chuckles started, then grew into open laughter.
Even the opposing defender, who had been sprinting to catch up, slowed down and put his hands on his hips, a smirk on his face.
Rio wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
But a second later, he was on the ground anyway.
Agony.
White-hot, blinding agony shot up his left leg. He hadn't even seen the defender. The one who'd been smirking. He must have followed through with his tackle, a desperate, last-ditch lunge that had caught Rio's planted standing leg.
The laughter died, replaced by a sharp, collective gasp.
"Fuck!" Rio screamed, clutching his shin. The word was raw, torn from his throat. He rolled over, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He forced his eyes open, praying it was just a bad knock.
It wasn't.
There was blood. A lot of blood, soaking through his red sock, turning it a dark, sickening maroon.
And his leg… his leg was not supposed to bend that way. The angle was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The pain was a roaring lion, devouring all his senses.
He heard shouting. Distant, like it was coming from underwater.
"Medic! Get the medics on!" Javi was running towards him, his face pale with horror.
The referee was blowing his whistle, a frantic, shrill sound.
But their faces were blurring. The green of the pitch, the bright stadium lights, the worried expressions… they all began to twist and fade, collapsing in on themselves.
The world dissolved into a dark, swirling void.
Rio was floating. There was no pain anymore. No sound. No pitch. Just… nothing.
Is this it? he thought, a strange calm settling over him. My career? Over at 17 because of one stupid, hopeful pass and a bad shot?
Then, the void lit up.
Not with light, but with text. Bright red, digital letters hanging in the blackness, right in front of his face. He blinked. They didn't go away.
[... ... ... ... ... Connection Complete!]
[Absolute Football Evolution System activated!]
"What…?" Rio whispered, but no sound came out.
[You are not alone.]
[99 other weaklings around the world are seeing this message right now.]
Weaklings? Rio felt a flash of indignation. Hey, I was having a decent game until my leg… oh.
[First Mission: Start collecting points!]
"Collecting points? What is this, a video game?" Rio thought, his confusion overriding his panic.
And as if in answer, the red text dissolved, the void shattered like glass, and the world slammed back into him.
The sound, the light, the smell of cut grass.
Rio was on his feet.
He was running. The ball was at his cleats.
He blinked, his mind reeling. The stitch in his side was gone. The burn in his lungs had vanished. He felt… amazing. Light. Fast.
He looked up.
The opposing goalkeeper was 20 yards off his line, scrambling back, arms flailing. The center-back was too slow. The right-back was caught flat-footed.
It was the moment. Again.
Time itself seemed to slow down. He could see everything. The defender who was about to break his leg was charging in from his right, his eyes wild, his studs already aiming for Rio's ankle.
He was two seconds away.
Rio didn't have time to understand. He only had time to act.
He wasn't going to blast it this time. He wasn't going to the parking lot.
With a sudden, instinctive delicacy that surprised even him, Rio didn't shoot. Instead, he took one more tiny, perfect touch.
He jabbed the ball with the outside of his left foot, just as the defender's lunge came sliding in. The tackle hit nothing but air.
The ball… oh, the ball.
It wasn't fast. It didn't have much power. But it was perfect. It rolled, almost lovingly, across the grass. It curled just inside the right-hand post, kissing the paint as it went.
The goalkeeper dived, a desperate, full-stretch starfish, but his fingertips grazed only the air.
The net bulged.
Gooooool!
The stadium exploded. A single, beautiful, deafening roar.
His teammates were running at him, Javi already pulling his shirt off in celebration. The defender who had missed the tackle was sitting on the grass, pounding the turf with his fist. The goalkeeper was still a heap in the side netting.
Rio just stood there, his hands on his knees, panting. Not from exhaustion, but from shock.
His leg didn't hurt. There was no blood.
It had all happened. He knew it had.
And then, a new sound, quieter than the crowd but a thousand times clearer, chimed in his head.
A pleasant, simple ding!
[First Goal Scored!]
[+100 Skill Points Gained!]
Rio looked up at the cheering crowd, then at his teammates piling on top of him, and finally, down at his perfectly intact left leg.
A slow, bewildered, and absolutely electric grin spread across his face.
"Okay," he whispered, as Javi ruffled his hair so hard it hurt. "Okay. I can work with this."